


Shift Me Gently

by A_Death_and_A_Maiden



Series: Yuri on Ice One Shots [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lime, M/M, Mild Smut, References to Drugs, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Death_and_A_Maiden/pseuds/A_Death_and_A_Maiden
Summary: It was probably the time he asked for the stranger’s name but the stranger spoke before Yuri could open his mouth. The rays of the sun hit the barn through the cracks in the roof and the stranger was surrounded by dancing gold dust.“I cannot leave now,”- said the man.“Are you a vampire?”- asked Yuri, - “I’m not tasty.”The man smirked. Yuri had limited experience with vampires, or, rather, he had zero experience with vampires but he was pretty sure the children of the night didn’t smirk. At least, not like that, with the corners of their mouth.
Relationships: Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Yuri on Ice One Shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128941
Kudos: 11





	Shift Me Gently

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are for a reason.
> 
> Thank you for reading me.

A strong hand on his chest, forcefully pinning him down.  
Yuri opened his eyes with a sharp pain in the lids as if he had the inside of his lids grilled on an open fire and saw a man, leaning over him. The hand with a fingerless black leather glove belonged to the stranger. The man was all black save for his bronze skin tone. He was wearing a heavy black biker outfit consisting of a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt, a pair of black leather pants and knee-high black laced-up combat boots that sported a tell-tale layer of road dust. His black hair was arranged in an undercut and his black, no, his brown eyes were alive in his otherwise resting bitch face. The man was a representative of one of those -stans, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan or Tajikistan. 

_Fuck-_ istan from where Yuri was standing, or, rather, lying on his back with a stranger’s hand on his chest in what looked like a big barn. Yuri had woken up in most strangest places in his twenty years of life but waking up in the barn was his first. 

“Don’t get up,”- said the man. Yuri sputtered. What the fuck was going on?! Yuri slapped away the stranger’s hand, dug in his elbows and heels and managed to sit up. The stranger sighed in annoyance and walked up behind Yuri. Yuri felt the other man slip his palms under his armpits for support when Yuri did his best to try to get up. 

Instead, Yuri blacked out.

When Yuri came back to his senses, he was tucked under an itchy woolen blanket and there was a pillow of equal discomfort under his head. His make-shift bed had been organized on a block of hay. The stranger was leaning over him again and holding a small bottle of smelling substance that helped Yuri to regain consciousness.  
“Where the fuck did you get that?”- grumbled Yuri and turned away from the sharp scent of the medicine.  
“My bike first aid kit,”- replied the stranger. - “You should lie down. You fell down and hit your head.”

As if on clue, a familiar sound of an incoming text message beeped. Yuri turned his head to the direction of the noise and saw his phone lying on the ground, far out of his reach. The screen of his phone lit up to announce an incoming text and then turned black. The stranger left Yuri’s side, walked over to the phone and knelt to pick it up. The leather pants hugged his muscular thighs and Yuri, ridiculous as it was now so out of place, felt good about the hours he spent sweating in the local gym toning those abs of his where the stranger’s hand had been touching him. He hoped the stranger had noticed Yuri’s effort through the skimpy top Yuri was wearing and that it was clear that Yuri wasn’t gonna go down easily if the other man suddenly got a crazy idea to take advantage of Yuri. 

The stranger handed the phone over to Yuri, watching him silently. Yuri was grateful for the stranger keeping himself to himself because the other man hadn’t been lying, Yuri’s head started painfully throbbing. He must have hit it, indeed. Yuri tried to concentrate over the impeding pain, took one look at the screen and cursed under his breath. The whole screen was one big spider web, essentially rendering the touchscreen unusable. He saw it was yet another text from Mila but the shattered screen over the touch-keyboard didn’t react to his touches. Apparently, someone’s big boot had stepped over the gadget. Yuri took one look at the stranger’s face and saw a flash of red under the tone of bronze.

“I’ll buy you a new phone,”- promised the stranger.  
“I want an iPhone, the latest edition and nothing less,”- said Yuri and put the sad mortal remains of his phone into a zip pocket of his jacket. The other man just watched him without a smile or an argument about how an iPhone was probably not the best replacement for a more budget Samsung. There were photos and music Yuri was maybe able to salvage. He had lost too much already, he could at least salvage those. He flopped back on the make-shift bed because suddenly the life was sucked out of him. He closed his eyes and started drifting.

A familiar ringtone plucked him out of the darkness together with the sharp scent of the medicine. The stranger was once again leaning over and Yuri wriggled away from him. Yuri took out the phone from the pocket and stared at this miracle of communication. There was only one person in the entire world who could get through a dead mobile phone. 

Victor Nikiforov. 

Victor’s name was on the call screen together with a green loudspeaker button. Seriously? The phone was broken on the keyboard to open texts but it was functioning on the loudspeaker button? Yuri carefully looked at the stranger who just shrugged shoulders. If this was a kidnapping, his kidnapper was acting weird by letting him use the phone. Truth be said, a phone was more of a name than of a thing and Victor Nikiforov would be the last man skating Yuri would turn for help about any ransom. 

He turned to Victor for help, many years ago. It didn’t work. 

Yuri pushed the green button and it miraculously worked. The phone came back to life.  
“Yurio!”- Victor’s voice was crisp and crackling, - “what are your plans for the weekend?”  
Yuri groaned. Victor used blackmail and provocation as his signature moves both on and off ice. If Yuri said he had no plans, Victor would ask him to do something for him. If Yuri said he had plans, Victor would ask him to reschedule and do something for him. Yuri decided to nip in the bud anything Victor had in mind.  
“What do you want, old geezer?”  
“I want to invite you to dinner.”  
“Why? Did your beloved pork cutlet bowl finally broke up with you and left for Japan?”

The silence on the other end of the line was...silent. Yuri shook the mobile as if it could fix the receiving problems but then it dawned on him that the problem wasn’t in the connection service. Yuuri Katsuki had indeed broken up with Victor Nikiforov and, most likely, left for Japan.  
“When?”- asked Yuri in a changed voice and then realized how ambiguous it had sounded. When was the dinner or when did they break up? - “What time are you expecting me? And are you cooking?”  
Victor’s voice came back, still crisp and crackling, but more elevated this time. Yuri took an educated guess that Victor may or may not be entirely sober.  
“Saturday, six p.m. I’m making a meat roast. You can bring a friend!”  
Yuri hung up. He had no friends and no friends had him. Not anymore. And he wasn’t lonely, he was just picky about his company. 

He managed to sit up and, after a few failed attempts, to stand up. His legs in dark blue jeans and his feet in red leopard print sneakers were shaky but supported him as soon as he found his balance. Athlete’s stamina will do it for you. It was probably the time he asked for the stranger’s name but the stranger spoke before Yuri could open his mouth. The rays of the sun hit the barn through the cracks in the roof and the stranger was surrounded by dancing gold dust.  
“I cannot leave now,”- said the man.  
“Are you a vampire?”- asked Yuri, - “I’m not tasty.”

The man smirked. Yuri had limited experience with vampires, or, rather, he had zero experience with vampires but he was pretty sure the children of the night didn’t smirk. At least, not like that, with the corners of their mouth. 

“I’ll show you,”- said the man and took Yuri by the elbow. They took a few carefully orchestrated steps behind a huge stack of hay that had been blocking the view and Yuri saw a motorbike. There were some tools aligned on a dirty rag near it. The stranger had been fixing the bike. Yuri blinked in an understanding that he still had no idea where they were. The stranger carefully guided Yuri to another block of hay that was big enough for Yuri to sit on and knelt down to the bike, his back to Yuri. 

Yuri didn’t know if it was an hour or a day, time wasn’t a relevant constant, but he watched silently how the man’s strong hands picked and replaced tools until the man stood up and looked at his soiled black hands. He picked the dirty cloth, sending the tools jingling on the ground, and tried to wipe his hands clean.  
“I’ve got some wet wipes,”- said Yuri, - “they are in my bag.”  
Yuri’s memory was coming back home from an extended holiday. Otherwise, why would he know for a fact that he had a bag and that there definitely were wet wipes in it? The stranger silently looked around, then picked a small black party backpack and handed it to Yuri, trying to handle it with the cleanest areas of his hands. Yuri rummaged in the bag and handed the man a pack of lavender scented wet wipes.

“I bet you don’t have those in your bike’s first aid kit,”- said Yuri. -“Where are we?”  
The man just shrugged shoulders. He plucked one wet wipe and started rubbing it against his palms.  
“In the countryside,”- finally, the stranger spoke up.  
“Fucking not funny. It’s a barn, Sherlock.”  
“My GPS died twenty kilometers to N.”

Yuri blinked in concentration. N? That’s where Victor’s dacha (Russian for summer house) was. The one Yuri had been staying this summer because he needed some country air to relax his guitar-string tensed nerves because life hadn’t been kind to him lately and it had sent Yuri pub-crawling and sleeping around. Yuri knew many men would lick his plate clean if he allowed. 

“Do you carry pillows and blankets on your bike?”  
“No,”- the man shook his head, he was going through the third wet wipe now, - “I found them here. It’s a barn.”  
Great, just great. Yuri had lain on somebody’s fuck pad. Wasn’t Yuri Plisetsky one lucky bastard?  
“I need a drink,”- said Yuri and looked into his bag. There was no water in it and he didn’t remember putting any in, either. The man picked a half-empty bottle from his bike’s saddle bag and extended it to Yuri. Yuri wanted to grab the bottle but his hand died mid-air. 

The bottle had been opened. It could be drugged. The man must have caught Yuri’s thought and smirked again, but this time in a strange sad way. He uncorked the bottle, took a little sip himself, put the cork on and extended to Yuri again. This time, Yuri grabbed it, unscrewed the cork and hungrily finished the remaining content of the bottle. It tasted like liquid lead.  
“You weren’t this careful yesterday,”- said the man. What the fuck, Yuri wanted to say but then bit his tongue. Yuri wasn’t the center of the universe and the man could have been referring to himself.  
“Won’t it fall?”- asked Yuri and motioned to the bike that had been propped at a strange angle.  
“You would be amazed,”- replied the man.  
“Can you take a photo of me on it?”- asked Yuri, - “On your phone, obviously.”

If the man had wanted to kill Yuri and make himself a suit from Yuri’s skin, he would have done it a long time ago, so Yuri decided to let his guard down. The man looked at Yuri silently for a long moment, then put the wet wipe pack into the zip pocket of his leather jacket, straightened the motorbike with one swift hand movement to a better angle and picked up his phone. Yuri slid down the block of hay and walked over to the bike. He threw one leg over it and started posing. He must have been a biker in another life because he was very comfortable on the bike and he felt like he knew what each piece of equipment did. 

“Show me,”- he finally said, reaching for the other man’s phone. The stranger surrendered his phone without the slightest hesitation. Yuri unlocked the screen, swiped through his photos on the bike and deleted the ones he didn’t like. Then, he used the share function and turned on the mobile Internet to send the photos he had liked to his email address. Then, he disconnected the mobile Internet and deleted the photos of him on the bike from the stranger’s phone.

So you don’t jerk off yourself while looking at me, Yuri thought. His finger accidentally swiped further into the photo gallery and a photo of the stranger and a girl came on the screen. OK, so maybe this man had a girlfriend and he wouldn’t masturbate with Yuri’s photos, after all. Yuri quickly closed the photo gallery and returned the phone to its owner. The man picked up his phone and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, secured with a zip. Yuri curled back on the block of hay again. If the bike had been fixed, maybe they could be travelling soon. 

Yuri froze because his muscle memory hadn’t been canceled.  
He had unlocked the screen of the stranger’s phone _without knowing the passcode._ He knew the motorbike like the palm of his hand. He was absolutely sure the man in front of him was no threat. And the -stan was, in fact, Kazakhstan. 

“Beka?”- asked Yuri.  
“It took you a while.”  
Yuri pressed his forehead to his knees.  
“What had happened?”  
“You went clubbing to a club I had a gig at, then you got careless with a bad company and got drugged. I got you out. I got us on a bike and rode away, trying to look for a safe place to stay and dreading you would stop holding onto me and fall off the bike, but you clung onto me like a panda. Then, the bike started dying and I saw this barn. And the rest is, like they say, history.” 

Just like the two of them, history. A two year old history when they broke up and Yuri Plisetsky became a slut. He would have every man in the world if he couldn’t have the man he wanted. What were the odds of running into each other in a country nightclub two years after the fact of the shipwreck of their relationship?  
“How did I hit my head?”- asked Yuri. He was beginning to feel a sharp throb at the back of his head now.  
“You tried to jump me when I carried you into the barn. You just slipped from my arms.”  
Yuri moaned silently. He had never slipped from Otabek’s arms before. Maybe Otabek had been holding onto him stronger back in the day? 

Then, happened something the Otabek of two years ago would have never done.  
“I should have fucked you while you were knocked out,”- said Otabek.

“What keeps you now?”- blurted Yuri and the next thing he knew he was lying pressed face forward onto the block of hay with his jeans and underwear pushed down and a hand in a leather glove on his dick and another hand in his hair, pushing him down. The rest went quickly and roughly; Otabek pulled out at the last moment and he came hot and wet on Yuri’s thighs. They stayed like this for an extended moment, heavily panting. Then, Yuri heard a sound of a zip-up on what he correctly assumed to be Otabek’s pants and pushed up his underwear, then zipped up his jeans. He was sore but the throbbing in his underbelly helped him focus. His mind was much clearer than before. 

“Victor has a dacha in N. Can you give me a lift?”  
He turned around and watched Otabek’s face; Otabek was inspecting the glove on his hands for the spots of Yuri’s cum. Otabek took out a new lavender wet wipe and rubbed it against the glove. Yuri noticed that Otabek had pocketed all the used wet wipes. Otabek was back to his old self of a nice neighbour boy who hated littering, always recycled glass and would never tell on schoolmates who played truant. Otabek looked at Yuri and nodded in agreement. 

Of course you would give me a lift,- thought Yuri, -you cannot fuck me raw and leave in the middle of nowhere in a fucking barn with a blanket that has somebody else’s cum on it. 

Otabek shut the barn door carefully. It was already late afternoon if the reddish sun wasn’t lying.  
“I’m having dinner with Victor this weekend and he said I could bring a friend. Would you be interested?”- asked Yuri as he threw a leg over the bike behind Otabek. Yuri winced and bit his lower lip because his ass was protesting. His ass was demanding a hot bath and a cold compress but that had to wait for the twenty kilometer mark.  
“Depends,”- said Otabek, - “I gathered he’s gonna cook.”  
Yuri snorted.  
He wasn’t fifteen anymore when they met. He wasn’t seventeen anymore when they broke up. And he knew that whatever boundary Otabek had in his stubborn head had been broken in that barn half an hour ago. Yuri instinctively knew Otabek would stay for the rest of the week in Victor’s dacha and then would go to dinner with him. Yuri imagined how Victor would react to ‘surprise’ Yuri was gonna give him (they need to get Victor some flowers, the old man always cried a little at such small signs of attention) and Yuri bit in Otabek’s jacket’s collar in excitement. And Yuri knew who was gonna let in a hot bath for him and Yuri knew who was gonna freeze the ice cubes for his sore spot.

Because some things never change. They just shift a little. 

The End


End file.
